


Ours

by ToxicBabes



Series: Tales of Apartment 8H [1]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Moving In Together, Romance, cooking together, domestic life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24172324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: Maxim and Timur move into an apartment together for the first time. It isn't perfect, but it's theirs.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov
Series: Tales of Apartment 8H [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705774
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Ours

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so writing fluff gave me a lot more trouble than expected and I suppose it's because I'm not used to it. However, I do have other bits and bobs planned for the future of this series so it'll be building upon their relationship in a domestic context. This oneshot is really just small scenarios they're in, them doing things and talking, nothing really too substantial but it's kinda cute, I guess? Hope you enjoy!

The living arrangements at Stirling Lines did not provide much privacy, if any. Walls were paper thin and if one were to press their ear against it, they would be able to hear into the next room as if they were standing at the centre of it. Soon enough many found their own living spaces, it was only logical that Timur and Maxim followed suit. It was mostly Timur. Had it been up to Maxim, he didn’t care where he lived as long as there was a roof over his head, a bed to lie in, Timur by his side. They could live in a cave, in a mansion, in the middle of nowhere, as long as those three factors were present then Maxim was a contented man. 

Timur scouted out several apartments and settled for one not too far from work. It was near the shops so needing to run out for milk or cigarettes wouldn’t be an issue and it was affordable too. Upon inspection, the apartment could do with some love and care, but Timur concluded it couldn’t be any worse than some places he’d lived in before, so they signed the lease and made arrangements to move in by the end of the week. 

The landlord seemed nice enough, but it was clear he was interested in monetary gain. He didn’t ask many questions aside from where they were from given their accents and why they decided to move to England, to which Timur was glad to partake in the small talk while Maxim trailed along in stony silence. He didn’t say a word during the whole exchange and an outsider would have assumed he didn’t speak English or he didn’t speak it very well, but Timur knew it was his nerves getting to him, his brain feeding his mind anxious thoughts of people raising a brow at two men moving in together. 

Nothing had changed much about the apartment since Timur took a look around it. The previous tenants moved out weeks ago, leaving behind the furniture already provided. The landlord took them around and gave a very brief tour once more as if he had not remembered he’d already done this before, or the fact that they had already signed all the papers that sent them beyond the point of no return. Perhaps he didn’t care to remember the people he did dealings with. 

“Erm, there _is_ a spare room here for your mate but no bed, ‘cos this place was mostly rented by couples and whatnot before that, so the spare room was usually used for an office,” the landlord explained, casting a brief glance over the small room that had barely any furniture aside from a couple cabinets, a desk and a chair. Then he looked back at the two of them for an uncomfortable moment, long enough to make things awkward and for one to ponder what to say to break this silence. “If you’ve any issues with the place or if something breaks, give me a ring. No pets, don’t be too loud, and smoke on the balcony or by the car park. I don’t want the place stinking. If you can follow that then we’ll get along well.”

Timur took the key and turned it in his palms a few times. “Don’t worry,” he said with a firm nod, forcing a warm smile. “Thank you.”

Once the landlord left, Maxim seemed to relax. He took another look around the flat, exploring the place as if he was sniffing it out for anything unusual. Timur found him sitting in the bedroom on the double bed, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. When their eyes met, the corners of Maxim’s lips flickered upwards into a small, aloof smile which Timur couldn’t help but to return. He also sat down next to Maxim on the bed and they remained like that for several minutes before he nudged Maxim.

“What’s the matter with you all the sudden?” Timur questioned.

Maxim gave a shrug and continued to study the place, its rundown furniture and the eyesore wallpaper. The pattern could burn into his retina if he stared at it hard enough. “It’s just been years since I’ve moved into a place with someone like this,” he said. 

Understanding what he must be feeling, Timur hummed back, reminiscent of something. “Well now we’re stuck living together, we’ll find out if we get along or if we actually hate each other,” he joked then he produced the car keys from his pocket. “C’mon, help me get the boxes from the car.”

It didn’t take long to get settled in. They didn’t have many possessions and several elevator trips had everything transported to their apartment. By the time they got sorted, the clock struck six and time slipped by faster than they anticipated. Stomachs growing, they set off to the shops. 

While it seemed sentimental to make their first cooked meal together special, once they set foot in the supermarket it became apparent that they were desperate for something quick and easy to make. They brought enough groceries to last them for the coming days and walked home hauling a bag each. The distance between the flat and the store was short enough to justify walking. With the prolonged daylight in the summer, the asphalt of the streets remained warmed by the sun while a steady breeze typical of the British weather kept them cool. 

There was something uplifting to the spirits about being able to return to a place they could call home. They were no longer living in dorms, in close proximity with their coworkers who could easily intrude if they were nosy enough. To rent an apartment together, shop for groceries, talk about what they were going to cook _together_ made Maxim feel as if they were taking a step closer. They were able to have a life outside the workplace that wasn’t the pubs in the evening or a temporary hotel room.

For both of them, it had been years since they moved in with a romantic partner and for Timur, he missed being able to do things around the house with someone else, whether that be cooking together or the chores. However, it was quite the opposite for Maxim. He enjoyed the company but when it came to doing things, it had to be his way.

The pot was simmering over the flame and Maxim gave the pasta a stir before he looked over towards Timur, catching he had returned to holding the knife incorrectly despite Maxim teaching him how to hold it properly.

“You’re going to cut yourself,” Maxim warned him in a gentle tone and he took over. His motions were smooth, no different to the professionals on television and Timur was enamoured by his skill. “Quit looking at my face and watch how to use a knife properly.”

With a brow raised, Timur observed but took none of it in. “Spetsnaz _and_ a chef? Your résumé must look interesting,” he teased, taking the knife back once more. It would take him more than an evening to learn how to chop onions with such fluidity and Timur continued to haphazardly dice them into uneven sizes. He glanced up at Maxim and spotted how his lips quivered for a split second as if every firing neuron in his brain was yelling at him to chastise Timur again. Although, Maxim just smiled and drew his attention to the bubbling pot.

Following dinner and the washing up of all the utensils and dishes they used, the entire day of moving into the new apartment had both of them exhausted of any energy. In a team effort they put on new bed sheets and settled in, acclimating to the larger bed now that they were not crammed onto a single mattress. Despite the room available, they still occupied the same space of a single bed, their limbs tangled and bodies pressed tight together. 

Timur found his rightful place with his cheek pressed against Maxim’s chest, feeling the hairs against his skin as he browsed on his phone. A hand was trapped under the waistband of his briefs, palming his muscular glute and it was habitual for Maxim to play with the elastic of his underwear, occupying his fingers with something. Now that he was drifting to sleep, his motions came to a pause. Timur listened to the sounds of their light breathing until something else caught his attention. As Maxim's body shifted and the old bed frame gave a creak, he opened his eyes, having fallen asleep very briefly until he too was disturbed by the sounds.

“Is that-“ Timur began but he paused himself and Maxim shushed him. They strained their ears and waited for another disturbance, the obscene sound once more. A muffled but drawn out moan could be heard in the distance and Timur spent a while figuring out if it was above or next to them. They exchanged immature grins before Maxim closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

“If we can hear them, they’ll be able to hear us as well,” Maxim mused and thought about it, but they were no strangers to keeping it quiet. While it was amusing the first time, he hoped that it wouldn’t become a nuisance in the future. The last thing neither of them wanted was a bad night’s sleep listening to their neighbours having sex. To their terrible luck, the sounds only escalated. What was once just vocalisations then became the rhythmic banging of furniture slamming into the wall and it was clear this was the adjacent neighbours. “Good thing the landlord gave you his number.”

They endured the sounds for a further fifteen minutes before they died down and by then it was enough to put Maxim in a huff. Although it kept happening, night after night, the brief moments before they were about to fall into a deeper phase of sleep, when they had finally found a comfortable position where limbs weren’t aching from being crushed. Soon enough they yearned for the cramped beds of their dorms in Stirling Lines, at least it was quiet there.

With no patience to wait until the morning, Maxim wriggled out of Timur’s embrace and reached over for his shirt. As he got dressed, Timur pushed himself up onto his elbows and squinted, a frown growing on his face.

“Where are you going?” He asked in a mumble.

“To have a word with them,” Maxim answered, pulling his socks on. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Not one for confrontation, Timur was relieved that it would be sorted out. While Maxim was capable of being civil, there was something much more intimidating about a scarred, brooding Russian man upset during the early hours of the morning. It didn’t take long for the sounds to stop and Timur strained his ears to hear for any dialogue but to no avail. He could only imagine what was being said, Maxim’s accented English, an awkward and passive aggressive request to be quiet. 

After several tense minutes, the door of their flat opened. Maxim returned to their bedroom and stripped back down into his underwear before crawling back into bed, his brows furrowed as he tried to find that specific, comfortable position. Although once he settled down, his expression relaxed and he fell asleep with his face smothered into the warmth of Timur’s neck.

* * *

The office was unused for the first weeks, they had no clue what to do with it. It was only until Timur’s itch to paint returned to him and he proposed he would use the room for that purpose as not to make the entire apartment smell like turpentine and paint. Maxim was more than happy to help him build new flat-pack furniture and they spent an evening setting up the office, deciphering manuals to getting distracted in conversation.

Eventually they had to take a break. Timur allowed Maxim to prepare dinner and he didn’t dare step foot into the kitchen so as not to anger the wrath of Maxim’s domain. Though Timur ignored every warning not to bother him after watching him for a while, unable to resist the temptation and he embraced Maxim from behind, knowing full well it annoyed him when he could barely move on his feet.

“Need anything from the shops? I’m gonna go out to get more beer,” Timur asked and he pressed a light kiss against Maxim’s neck, lips brushing against his skin as he looked over his shoulder to see what was cooking.

“Be sweet and get me a pack of cigarettes,” came the answer and Maxim reached back to touch him, acknowledging his presence. He leaned in to receive the small kiss in parting and Timur didn’t waste time finding his wallet and a jacket.

When the two of them took a trip to the grocery store, Maxim always had a mental list of what they needed. They could go in and be out in a number of hasty minutes but oftentimes Timur had them sidetracked. Now that he was by himself, he took his time going through each aisle, looking at snacks and various drinks without Maxim there to hound him for spending a ridiculous amount of time contemplating what flavour of milkshake he desired.

He ended up buying more than what he came for, namely additional snacks for later in the night or the early morning when he would get up feeling peckish. Although he did not forget Maxim’s cigarettes. By now Timur was able to recite the precise sentence he always said to the cashier, the brand and pack size without fail. 

On the walk home, he turned the small box in his palm several times and amused himself with how Maxim was a world of a difference when they were alone together. At work with the recruits, he was a harsh instructor. There was no room for mistake under Maxim’s gaze, but he did it out of best interest. Oftentimes recruits would complain he was too hard on them but Timur knew he cared about them enough that he did not want them to be inept at the skills he taught them. It would be a failure on his own behalf and he would not allow that to happen. With coworkers, Maxim maintained stone-cold professionalism with a dash of humour if the situation called for it. One would think he was incapable of warmth, he rarely showed it. They could depend on him, but it seemed that no one was quite able to break through his guarded facade, to figure out if there really was a human in there.

Timur knew him. Although sometimes he felt like he was barely scratching the surface, that there were more aspects to Maxim that he had yet to discover. Regardless, Timur appreciated what he did know and that was the affections Maxim was capable of. Beyond the aloof interactions and abrasive tendencies, there was a man who cared more than anyone else would, whether that be for the well-being of others or for Timur. It was easy for an outsider to peg him to be jaded, it seemed that way at first when Timur met him but now he understood Maxim to be a tender soul, even when he nagged and chastised. 

The more Timur thought about it, more things made sense. There were a million methods to communicate love and Maxim’s love was often practical, through action. His attempts to teach Timur to cook properly, hounding him to be safer with handling utensils, giving him a little extra on his plate because Maxim knew he had an appetite for good food. In Maxim’s eyes, it wouldn’t be love if he did not have Timur’s best interests at heart, whether that be to protect him or to nurture him. 

The thought warmed Timur’s soul, set him in a brighter mood as he returned to the apartment building. As he waited for the elevator, he checked for mail and tucked the small stack of envelopes into his bag before making a hasty dash for the closing elevator door. To his luck, the passenger halted the lift by wedging a foot between the door. 

“Thank you.” Timur gave a polite nod then moved to select his floor, but the passenger had already selected it.

The man gave a brief smile then studied him for a second, almost trying to decipher his accent or the fact that his face was new around these parts. “You live in 8H right?” The man asked to which Timur nodded once again. “Ah, yeah, your mate knocked a couple nights ago telling us to keep it down. Sorry about the noise, we didn’t know how loud it was until… y’know. So, uh… Maxim, right? I’m Nick.”

While Timur shook his hand, a wave of panic washed over him and he looked down at himself afterwards, eyes glazing over the inscription on his jacket that spelled out ‘Maxim’ in block capitals. “Oh- no, my name is Timur actually. This is his jacket, I had to step out quickly- long story,” he said and mustered a laugh, unable to sound composed because it did seem rather strange. 

The elevator couldn’t move any faster. Nick raised a brow and chuckled, finding the whole situation odd. “Right, Timur then. It’s nice to meet you anyways,” he said and they stared at the metal walls of this confined space, wondering what other small talk they could do to kill time. “The missus didn’t know you two moved in next door and one night she told me ‘Nick, did ya know John-‘ our old neighbour- ‘did ya know John’s learnt Russian? I keep hearing him arguing with someone on the balcony!’ And I told her, I said, ‘Sarah, love, John’s moved out.’”

Had it been Maxim in the current situation, there would have been a dead silence, maybe a forced smile, but over the years Timur mastered the ability of being able to mimic genuine laughter. “It may sound like it, but we’re not arguing,” he reassured him. 

To put them out of their misery, the elevator arrived at their floor. It didn’t help that they lived in the neighbouring apartments, so Timur could not ignore him completely as they walked to their doors and fumbled with their keys.

“That’s good to hear. Argue, talk, whatever, you two do it in social hours, I’ve got no complaints. We’ll try to pipe it down over here, mate. Have a good night,” Nick spoke, half his body through the door. They shared the brief exchange of ‘bye’s and polite smiles before retreating into the comfort of their homes.

Seeing as Timur did take his time at the store, the clock was almost striking eight when he set down the bags by the door and locked it. He had left the house merely forty minutes ago. What was supposed to be a brief ten to fifteen minute errand clearly took far longer and Timur was not surprised when he stepped into the kitchen to receive an unimpressed look. Maxim watched as he put his purchases in the fridge, hands crossed over his chest and he knew Timur would continue playing dumb with that sheepish grin until he said something about it.

There was no use staring and doing nothing. Maxim reached for two clean bowls and scooped two generous servings of dinner. He brought them to the sofa and set it on the small coffee table. Timur joined him not long after with two cool beers.

“Who were you talking to out there?” Maxim asked as commercials interrupted the soap opera on the television. He glanced over to Timur and found a smile growing on his face as he observed how Timur seemed to cherish every meal he cooked as if it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

“The guy next door,” Timur answered. “This is really good by the way.”

“There’s more in the pot if you want it. The good-looking one?” Maxim inquired, furrowing a brow in question.

Out of all the neighbours they met over the days, Timur had to think about it. “He’s alright, I guess… Nick, the one having sex the other night and you got pissed off, remember?” He probed at Maxim’s memory and received a nod in agreement. “ _Hey-_ he’s not _that_ good-looking.” And when Maxim shook his head in disbelief, refusing to listen, Timur nudged him with his elbow. “You have terrible taste.”

A dangerous thought glinted in Maxim’s eyes and he took in a steady breath, his grin growing wider but he held his tongue. He wasn’t keen on being on the wrong end of Timur’s rifle. “Hardly. I think you’re handsome, my taste is perfect.” 

* * *

For a while things were okay. No more noise complaints and Maxim was beginning to settle in, convincing himself to like the place despite his concerns with the strange mould on the living room ceiling. They decorated the place some more in attempts to offset the dreariness of the entire apartment’s furnishings and Maxim even surprised Timur with a potted plant for his office. 

'To cleanse the air' was Maxim’s reasoning and Timur appreciated the blooming flowers on the plant before setting it by the window. He admired it a little longer then wondered if this was Maxim’s way of buying him flowers without the obvious sentiment behind presenting him with a bouquet. Although Timur knew if he commented on it, Maxim would simply justify the purchase by saying that the plant could provide many benefits _and_ it was far more practical than any bouquet. 

Lazing on the sofa, they tried to find a decent movie to watch. Timur read through each title only for Maxim to pull a face and ask for the next even though he would fall asleep midway through it. Every evening was a struggle like this, searching for something to entertain themselves during the time that their jobs did not call for their presence. Maxim rested his head in Timur’s lap and relaxed at the sensation of nails gently scratching his scalp as he turned his attention to the opening of some action movie they found.

At some point, Maxim closed his eyes. It was hard not to, especially with the comfortable warmth of Timur’s lap providing a firm pillow for his head, a paradise to lay his thoughts to rest. Even though the sofa was far too soft for Maxim’s liking, there was something magical about a lover’s lap that no pillow or bed could ever mimic. Just when he thought he could relax, his ears picked up the unusual sound of pattering- not of the rain against the windows, but something indoors. 

“Shit…” Timur gave an exasperated sigh and he reached for the remote control to pause the movie. “The ceiling’s leaking _again._ I thought they fixed it.” 

Their first argument in the apartment occurred over this. Although it was far worse initially with the ceiling looking as if it would collapse any moment and Maxim was quick to chastise the state of the place to which Timur shot back saying he couldn’t have possibly foreseen this happening. They knew better than to make accusations and after a healthy moment to huff to themselves, they exchanged quiet apologies that led to coy smiles, a laughter that ached in their throats and exhausted their bodies. 

This time, Maxim sat up and watched as Timur went to retrieve the bucket. He set it on the coffee table and they contemplated as they listened to the fat droplets slapping into the plastic container with a sound that could drive anyone insane. He cast a look towards Timur, raising a brow to question what he was going to do about it. 

“I’ll call tomorrow,” Timur told him, then he narrowed his eyes, lips drawing into a thin line. “Hey, don’t look at me like that.” 

Withdrawing his gaze, Maxim folded his arms over his chest. “As long as you deal with him, I don’t care,” he claimed, but he really did care- he cared too much. He studied the leaking ceiling and the silence that eclipsed the apartment gave way to muffled speech coming from the neighbours. A faint whistling of air came through the crack in the broken balcony door and they exchanged looks, taking in their desolate home. “We’re getting scammed, I hope you know that.”

Almost exasperated at the topic emerging between them again, Timur raised his hands. “Yeah, I do. I’m gonna call him tomorrow, alright? You’re gonna pop a blood vessel if you keep going on about it.”

They left it at that. Maxim held his tongue on his endless complaints and Timur devised a careful script in his head on how he was going to present the issue at hand to his landlord without seeming too insistent yet pressing the fact that the ceiling of the apartment was on the brink of caving in if the leak persisted. 

The following morning he steeled himself, channelling the internal voice of Maxim telling him to be assertive, or rather, Timur simply had to recall the annoyance of listening to his sandpaper sighs followed by the aggressive banging of the balcony door that never seemed to close properly. It filled him with courage and he picked up the phone as he sipped at his mug of coffee. 

For Maxim, he handed away the responsibility of this so it had no bearing on him. He slept into the morning with no issue, even relieved since he remembered it was their day off. He blinked awake at eight to losing Timur’s warm body in his arms. The mild inconvenience wasn’t enough to get him out of bed and he fell asleep once again not long after, gladly sprawling out to take up the spacious mattress to himself. 

A light rustling had him stirring. He wasn’t sure how long he had slept but the curtains were pulled open and natural light flooded the room. The dry sound of tearing paper punctuated the silence of their bedroom and it was far too loud to be Timur discarding junk mail- plus, why would he be in their room? Maxim rolled over and squinted to make out what was happening, nearly blinded.

“What are you doing?” 

In one smooth motion, Timur gripped the edge of the wallpaper and ripped, taking off the sheet. The clock read one o’clock and Maxim was certain he could hibernate if left alone to do so. Half the wall had been stripped of the ugly print and he noted where the dresser had been moved, questioning how Timur could’ve done it so quietly until now.

“I called the landlord,” Timur spoke and returned to what he was doing. “He said he’ll call someone to fix the leak upstairs. I asked if I could do any redecoration and he said I’m free to do whatever, so... I’m getting rid of _this._ ”

Puzzled, Maxim rubbed his eyes in hopes to clear his foggy mind, his thoughts scrambled from sleeping for so long. He stumbled onto his feet and stretched his back, allowing an ungodly sound to escape from him alike to the deathly rattle a dying corpse would make.

“Why?” He questioned as he tugged on some clothes, nearly falling over trying to put on a pair of shorts. He planted a firm kiss onto Timur’s cheek when he passed him, avoiding his lips to save him the agony of a morning breath so potent it could knock someone out. Either way, Timur still made a face at him and nudged him along to urge him to brush his teeth right away. “This place is a complete shithole. Why bother?”

Timur cast an endearing look at their small, dark bedroom. “I wanna make it nice,” he said but Maxim wasn’t impressed with his reasoning. “I want it to be special. This is _our_ shithole, remember?”

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
> My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


End file.
